Remainer's Cantata
by winterfrappe
Summary: There were two things that heralded death: seeing your reflection on a blade, and words of love. "The Weak Man's Kingdom is strong. The Blind Man's Nation sees the future. The Deaf Man's Country can hear all whispers. And the Mute Man's land, ravaged by blue fire and red ice, disappeared centuries ago," Hitoshi smiled, "Such is the power of words stringed into song."
1. Prologue: Three Old Tales

**Prologue:**

Three Old Tales

Words Never to be Said

Long, long ago, the people of olden days kissed tar to seal their lips. They wore leather around their mouths, that they only took off to eat or kiss. Everything was written down, inscribed in papers, wood, or stone. The scratch of the pen, the chipping of tablets, and the smell of ink were welcomed guests. They brought no danger, no horror in their wake.

Unlike the evil syllables of the mouth.

Yes, the people of old feared… spoken words. But not just any words. They feared the words of the heart. For it was in these words that they shared fragments of their soul fueled by emotion so pure and dark, that as these words escaped their lips, they brought out mists of human cores to wreak havoc upon the earth. The people's fear was so deep rooted that they'd willingly bleed for ink just to escape the horror of uttering these evil sounds.

… but the longer these words cooked in their chests, the more powerful and sinister they became… and harder to contain.

Angry words were red words. Angry words were …beasts.

They were great dragons that burned down villages and castles to ash with hellfire from the sky. Red words were the clouds of locusts that ravaged the land's crops and animals, leaving hungry men to starve dry in the summer drought. They were the trolls in the mountains, ready to eat unsuspecting travelers and abandoned babes. Red words were the krakens that lurked the great deep, awaiting ships to sink into the pits of jealous seas. Angry words were living beasts lurking in every dark corner of the known world.

And those who spoke them once were skewered to speak them never again.

Then, jealous words. Jealous words were green words. Jealous words were the wraths of gods.

Jealous words were the shaking of the land, crumbling castle walls, burying civilizations that have long since forgotten to worship the earth for its good deeds. Green words were storms, children of envious rain, lightning, and the bellowing thunder of the skies as the angels complained about mankind. They were sudden forest fires, urged by the heat of the summer sun, and green with envy for the life they can never make with their flames. Jealous words were mistresses of the deep. Blue-green seas enraged as their loving sailors passed them from shore to shore. They were angered that their lovers never stayed for long…so the waves made them.

Those who spoke jealous words once were skinned, drawn and quartered, heads mounted on a spike by the city gates, never to speak them again.

So, how about love words? Love words were pink words. Love words were… cold, burning… decaying.

Love words were omens of death. They were butterflies burned by the flames of envious forest fire, for love burned with jealousy's ember. They were the little bird houses squashed underneath the foot of mountain trolls, for love bended for anger's wrath. Pink words were the last leaves of windy autumn days as the cold winds of winter came. Because love was that lingering, fleeting ephemeral hope. And love words were… never meant to stay long. Pink words always turned stale. Always.

Lovers, parents, siblings never spoke of pink words no matter how much they wished they could. But they held the other too dear to lose over simple sounds. And for those who did, well… they count the sands on the hourglass or measure the burning wick of candle clock as their mourning robes lay on their beds, waiting for their hour. And it was soon. They knew it was soon. And that was enough of a punishment.

Then, joyful words. Joyful words were yellow words.

Joyful words were the silver and golden coins in your pockets after a long day's work. They were the roof over your head, the warmth of your bed, and the fullness of your belly as you lay down to rest. They were the beauty of flowers in spring as the snow slowly melted into evergreen. They were the coolness of ocean water in the summer sun, and the last warm winds of autumn on a contemplative afternoon walk.

Joyful words were… what light was to insects on a dark night.

They were the trolls in the night, awaiting you down the road in your mountain home to stab and rob and eat you, for joyful men angered the suffering others. They were the jealous rain and thunder, banging on your door and sending your home flying through the air on a cold winter night. For why should you lay down and rest in your cozy warm bed while others were shivering in their frozen wasteland homes? Joyful words were the stinging bumbling bees of spring. They were the blistering heat of summer days inviting droughts and locust clouds. They were the gloom and darkness of autumn afternoons awaiting the icy clutches of snowy winter storms.

Joyful words made all the ugly words come together. No one spoke them. No one dared. And the fools who did—fools, indeed—they were never to be found… Unless you look for the fallen bits in the sea or follow the trail of blood into troll caves. In which case, you must have loved the fool.

Not all words were horrid and miserable. There was… a beacon of light—an exception—to the grim words of the heart.

They were sad words.

Sad words were blue words. Sad words did _nothing_. And for this, they easily became everyone's favourite. Sad words were… precious and bare. But no one ever cared to share them with others. No one wanted to. After all, to bare your soul to others… it was the only thing more frightening than red, green, pink, or yellow words.

So, the people kept sad words to themselves…

… and to the listening wells.

The Five Lying Men

Once upon a time, five lying men journeyed to the listening wells to share their blue secrets.

The first man arrived as the sun was beginning to wake, and the darkness of the night made way for the light of day. The first man leaned onto the well with trembling hands. His sunken eyes looked into the unending abyss below. Then he spoke with a tremor in his voice. And then he spoke:

 _How pitiful am I? How pitiful am I! How pitiful, indeed. For these innocent hands, once white pristine, are now red with that child's death._

 _Yes, red. Red with_ their _crimes. Oh, I pity myself. I pity myself, indeed. For I have been used, abused, and misused to fulfill their evil deeds. Had I just seen—had I just SEEN—that glint of evil in his eyes as I handed them that sweet babe, I would not have dared let them touch one straw of his sky-ed hair. Oh, but alas, I am but a poor, poor blind man._

 _How pitiful. How pitiful am I? And now my hands are stained red._

And the first man fell unto his knees and wept. His arms lay motionless in between his legs, as his eyes looked at the bluing sky that reminded him of that babe's hair. And he wept, and he wept for his hands stained red. And when he could cry no longer, he stood and walked away, down the hill once more. In his heart, he promised that man shall never be blind…not anymore. Not anymore. Blind not anymore.

The second man arrived, in the middle of the sun's climb in the sky. He listened to the bird's song and the wind's lullaby to the dancing grass as he walked towards the well. Trembling hands traced the cold stone, and he leaned forward and the well echoed his welcome. Then he spoke—afraid of his words—but then he spoke:

 _Mercy! Mercy upon my poor soul. Upon my poor soul, mercy I beseech! Hands white clean, now red blood stained of a babe's crimson heart._

 _Had I just heard the screams, the cry, the anguish, I may not have given the dagger to the evil man. And my hands would not be red. Had I heard—oh, had I just HEARD—that child may still be by the living's side._

 _But, alas! Alas, this task was given to a deaf man. And my hands would not be red if I had not been deaf. And the sweet babe's eyes would not be red with anger, as he breathed his final breathe._

 _Oh, but have mercy. Have mercy on my poor soul. For now, once pristine, my hands are stained red._

And the second man bowed and wailed into the well. And he listened, he listened as the abyss echoed his anguish. And he cried, and he cried for his dirty hands, until his swollen eyes turned red like the child's. And when tears no longer came, the second man stood and wiped his cheeks as he left. No more. No more—he swore—no more was man to be deaf. No more.

The third man came as the sun was at its peak. He hummed the music of the world in his lips. A string of beautiful, yellow and pink words escaped him, but his eyes sang of a blue sadness in his heart. The third man came upon the well and greeted it with an enchanting lullaby. And the well echoed his beautiful music back. Then the man leaned forward, and with a trembling voice he spoke, a blue tune:

 _I ask for no mercy. I ask for no pardon nor pity. I've come to confess for the crime I've committed. Yes, oh listening well, I have come to confess my red stained hands._

 _I knew a child, a babe barely walking, whose soul came to me once to tell me his tale. I sat and listened, but that was all that I did. That was all I could do. That was all this mute man could do. I gave the child no justice, no light, no peace. I gave the child's tale no voice, no right for a trial for a ticket to heaven._

 _And now I've confessed, and my punishment begins._

The third man didn't cry, not a tear left his eye. And he repeated his confession, over and over until it was all the well could say. Then he prayed for the babe, he prayed for the life lost. And when this was done… he left. No song escaped his lips, only the mourning of the dead and the promise he made. No more. No longer would man be mute. No more…

The fourth man came as the sun descended its peak. He had with him a long and heavy sword attached to his hip. In his arms, he held a small coffin, so tiny and delicate. The fourth man knelt and laid it down on the green grass. And with trembling hands, he opened it.

Then he spoke:

 _Hear me. Hear me, oh child, and find now your peace. All that you've suffered, all that has pained you, let them now be all released. For at your journey's end, sweet death shall mend, all the broken pieces of your soul. All your dreams unfulfilled, all your hopes unanswered, to realize them shall be my journey's goal._

 _I am a weak man. I am a weak man. But this shall no longer hold me still. For if it is my weakness that has killed you, then weak I no longer will._

The fourth man embraced the child's sleeping form, dressed in black robes. Silent tears fell from his eyes, as he whispered his prayer:

 _Hear me, little warrior. Hear me._

 _Little warrior, can you hear?_

 _Sleep and be at peace. I am a strong man. I am a strong man. So, set your mind at ease. I was a weak man. I was weak, it's true. But hear my words, brave warrior. Hear my words, for now I will be strong for you._

There once were four men who came to the listening well to confess. And when they left, they vowed to change. But there was no need for change. For what they vowed they always were.

Only now… they chose to be.

Dilemma of the Three Ants

Once upon a time, there were three ants…

* * *

[ Kamni City, Outer Mountain Gates]

"I'm sorry, sir. Unauthorized personnel aren't allowed to carry weapons in the city."

Shoto's chest burned. Not literally, but it might as well have. His hand reached protectively to the sword strapped to his hip. His Mother's sword. There was no way he was going to let it out of his sight.

"Sir?" The city gate watcher, a woman more frog than human, ribbited. Her big round eyes jumped between Shoto's face and the hand on the sword in question. "Your sword please?" She held out her webbed hands, slightly trembling.

The people in line behind Shoto started to inch away. Whispers, murmurs, and even curses erupted behind his back, both worried and just downright pissed at the commotion the lordling was stirring. The summer sun was too high and too hot in the sky. Too early for such trouble. Behind the woman, a much toad-like man was making his way towards them.

 _Calm. Calm_. _A frightened animal is difficult to persuade._

"I'm here to join the Order," Shoto explained, regaining his composure. He removed his hand from the sword yet kept it close enough to ward others from taking it by force. "I heard there was going to be a test of skill. My technique uses the sword," he said. "Please, ma'am. I mean no harm."

The frog-like woman blinked and let out an adorable smile. A new recruit... "I see." Her webbed hands rested once again on her swollen stomach. Her husband joined her. His webbed hand was on her shoulder and she leaned into it.

Shoto looked at the toad-man. His slitted eyes were dead set on him as he massaged the frog woman's shoulder. He was a silent but gruff man, Shoto figured. And the boy averted his eyes from looking at the man's inflating and deflating throat. A warning of some sorts.

"Then may I suggest my husband take it to the White Keep for you?" The gate keeper ribbited. "There's going to be a test scheduled for tomorrow morning and you could—"

"No," Shoto half-exclaimed.

The toad-man's eyes widened in alarm. He readied to move his wife away, but the woman merely held unto the hand on her shoulder, waiting for the boy to explain himself.

"I—," Shoto paused. His cooling chest burned once more. His hand found its way back to the crystal on his mother's sword.

Shoto's eyes trailed the tall intimidating white outer walls of the city. His goal—his mother's second-home—was just beyond these stones. And yet, here he was, blocked by the gates because he didn't want to let go of her memento. It was silly. So silly, but the fire in his chest burned blue at the thought of letting go… of leaving her side once more.

 _He should never have let her go._

"Come now. We haven't got all day." The toad-man's voice was deeper and more echoing than he expected but befitting a toad all the same.

 _It's just a sword._

"No, it's not…" Shoto whispered to his conscience.

 _It's just one night. You can trust this people. They're_ _ **her**_ _people. Let go and trust them as she did. Let go…_

The fire moved to his fingertips as he slowly pulled his mother's memento from his belt. The toad-man held out his hand. Shoto looked at the webbed fingers then at the sword. Just for tonight. Just for _toni—_

"Why don't I just escort him there, Beru-san?"

Shoto froze and looked at the taller boy beside him.

Beru—as she was called—ribbited at the sight of the arrow-eyebrowed boy. Her lips curled to a heartwarming smile. "Welcome back, my boy."

The boy returned the smile with a salute. "I'm home," he said. "That is, if I may, Ganma-san? Escort him I mean." He turned to the larger human amphibian for consent.

Ganma croaked, throat inflating and deflating as he looked between Shoto and the new boy. Then he squinted his eyes. "Make sure he doesn't cause trouble." He conceded, earning a gentle tap from his froggy wife.

"No problem!" The boy smacked Shoto's back in an overly friendly manner. It made the lordling cough. "I'm sure uhh… um."

"Shoto," the lordling supplied as he removed the other's hand from his back.

The arrow eyebrowed boy grinned and he extended his hand.

"Tensei. Tensei Iida. Let's get along."

* * *

 **AHOY! That's about it for the Prologue :) How was it? Did you like it?**

 **I know, I know, kinda too long for a prologue, yeah? But these are stories the characters in our story have grown up with and are in fact really, really, REALLY (I cannot stress this enough) important clues for the future of this cantata. That, and I wanted to set the tone and atmosphere.**

 **You must be wondering, are Tensei and Shoto the same age? Yes, fourteen in this scene, to be precise. You're going to find a lot of different ages in this fanfic, simply because I'd rather use characters you already know and can therefore already visualize than my OCs. I apparently hike up the word count with character descriptions. :|**

 **Other things you should expect? Genderbends, I guess. Although at the moment, there's only really one, who I will be introducing in the next chapter. Then… well, I'd rather not spoil. ;)**

 **Find any mistakes? DM me to change it! And yes, there really were five men.**

 **Here's a treat for the next chapter:**

* * *

 _"We are safe."_

 _"Tensei-"_

 _"_ _We're all so happy now. But I'm afraid. I'm so fucking afraid, because what if—fate be good—what if this war is not done?"_

 _Shoto didn't really believe in all these promises the Blind Seers made, but he did believe in the promises of words._

 _And it was a good thing he did. They were the only things true in this world._

* * *

 **-winterfrappe signing out!**


	2. Chapter One: Liars Bare

**Chapter One:**

Liars Bare

* * *

Look away. Look away. This tale is nothing but sorrows and woes, so look away, child, look away.

I wish I could tell you a happy story. I wish I could tell you that the war has ended, that our brave warriors are finally marching home, that they are being awaited by a great feast, a long and well-deserved celebration, and that finally, finally the land can continue to live out its days in peace and harmony. But alas, our story preludes to nothing but death, and I tell you now as the narrator—as the bard— to look away, look away now and find another work to read.

You might wish for a happy ending, but that's not how the song goes. So, look away now.

Look away.

Don't tell me I didn't warn you.

…

Are you still here?

Do I hear a _'yes'_? Don't nod your head, say it loud and clear now. Good. So now, look away. Shoo, go read some other happy fairy tale.

Are you _still_ here?

Well... that didn't work. I wonder why... hmn. Tsk, must be that damn dragon's work. He's alive now isn't he? I mean, it has been three hundred years. Should be enough time. Although I don't see him, but if this isn't working then he must be able to see me. By the lying men, I wish I could see him too. Just one more time so I could knock his lying scale-y ass.

 _Seriously_ , are you still here?

Well...I guess I'm just going to have to lie, but if you've read the prologue you should already know we're all liars here, right? The blind, the deaf, the mute... and the weak. And that blasted black dragon. Hey, if you see anyone with heavy eyebags, you let me know, okay? Good. Now where was I... right, the dead—no no, the Jealous War. Yes, the Jealous War. Ah, too wide, too long. That damn dragon'd burn me if I start there. So where now?

Hmn? Shoto? Who? That guy with a burned scar on his face, the one whose mother went insane? Nonsense. I don't know him. I think you mean the one whose wife and daughter burned in the fire. Todoroki? I guess you can call him that, but I don't hear him claiming that name. No. Are we even talking about the same person?

Tensei? You mean Tensei Iida? Now, _he_ I know. In fact, he's right over there with the rest of the warriors from the Western Front, back from the war. And I guess that's Shoto riding beside him, carrying his daughter's doll in one of his saddle bags. Peculiar, very peculiar. You say the burned scar was on his left eye, right? Hah, you must have been describing the doll.

Hmn... I guess it'd be fun following him. Let's see.

Oh, who am I? Well... Take a guess.

Orange started to pierce through the black veil of night awaiting the waking sun. Cloaked in shadows, the Western Band made their way through the valley pass in heightened alert. For yes, the war had ended, and yes, they were headed home, but those burning days on the field trailed alongside them by the wails of shivering men and women, and the screams of the sleeping folk, awoken by nightmares of the nights past. Heavy bags pulled at their eyes—almost as awfully as they did the dragon I know— and they dragged their feet, leaving a path in the dirt. Those who rode hunched, carrying the weight of the world on their back in place of the white cloaks their Order always donned.

And yes, the brave warriors were heading home. And perhaps a feast really awaited them in their beloved city. But if I know Weak Men—and I do know—then for certain, a feast is not the only thing awaiting them behind the great white walls. It has happened before, and history is but a song, quite repetitive, always rhyming.

So, despite the lack of sleep, Shoto kept his ears perked and eyes darting around in delirious fever for any sign of an ambush.

They were nearing the city, but the majority of the band was asleep, fighting sleep, or nightmaring of the past. He'd seen this before, five times to be exact, and out of four of those there was always something waiting behind the bush or the next turn. And the path they chose was just the perfect spot for an attack. He expected arrows to shower them bloody anytime soon, and he readied his frozen hand to shield his friends and fellow knights from it.

Sshh... something was sneaking towards him. Horseback. From behind. Here they come—

"If I fall, catch me won't you?" Tensei chimed.

Shoto's heart flamed, then cooled, and he let go of his mother's sword. "You should be sleeping," the ice-wielder said as he took the reins of the other's horse.

Tensei simply yawned, or tried to at least. The pain on his ribs made it difficult. The hand used to clutch his horse's reins were strewn with stitches and burns, the other tucked inside a white sling, heavily bandaged with supporting wood. "I would, but someone always wakes up kicking and screaming." Mirth, or at least Tensei tried.

Shoto frowned, remembering how awful Tensei was the previous night.

White cloth crossed over Tensei's face, covering his right eye, nose, and right ear. His neck ghosted a long scar that vanished into his chest. The lone blue eye that showed looked down at the path—a work of the three day old bags underneath it, or a picked up habit from traversing through buried spikes— as a tear from his yawn dripped down his cheek.

Shoto eyed him, watching once more as another yawn escaped the midnight-haired boy. He should really be back in the wagons sleeping.

"Father and mother wants me to meet a girl," Tensei drawled. "I'm eighteen now. And my father's not getting any younger. Before he officially retires—if he ever gets to, fates be good—he wants to hold his grandchildren, he says." Tensei chuckled once more, more exhausted than before. Then his blue eyes shifted to the starless purple-crimson sky, and his hands shivered, recalling the last time he saw the same bruised-blood horizon.

Shoto reached out to drag him out of his thoughts, but Tensei continued with a slightly trembling voice.

"Love is soft, he said. And it helps. It helps warriors heal and forget enough for the nights to be ... _tolerable_." Tensei touched his injured arm, and once more the burning blade cuts him. Sweat watered down his scrunched arrow-brow.

Shoto retracted his hand and looked at it. Wrapped in bandages, the thin scar—drawn from the base of his missing thumb to below his wrist—pinched like a fire ant's bite.

And it finally caught up to him.

The bags underneath his eyes felt heavier and the wound that pierced his side bled out spikes and blades. His arms felt brittle, breakable, _weak_. His back hunched from carrying mountains while his chest burned with the fury of volcanoes.

He was tired... Oh, so tired.

...Then, sunlight blinded him.

Shoto blinked away the sunshine as Tensei finally broke into a laugh full of life beside him in the day break. The company stopped in their tracks as warriors looked unto the horizon.

Tall white walls embraced the mountain beds of the sun as it woke, finally breaking the darkness and gloom of the night. From where they stood, they saw their banners draped down the city's defenses. Golden horn flowers against white cloth shined, reflecting the beauty of daylight. Their Order's horns bellowed, voice echoing throughout the island in glorious welcome.

Tensei rested his hand on Shoto's shoulder, and Shoto turned his head to face the other. Tensei grinned, and with shaking breathe, he said:

"...We're home."

As they streamed down the valley pass, the once grim air turned into cheers of joy and celebration. But you know... yellow words were awful things.

* * *

Tensei was a worrywart, Shoto quickly realized on their way to the war front four years ago. It was something he also caught after all, and the reason why wasn't pleasant.

They were in the middle of a snow storm climbing the mountain path that separated their infant kingdom from the adult enemy empire. Tensei became the leader of their squad almost immediately. He was an Iida, they told him, it was expected of him.

And they were hailed as the lucky ones. Where others were getting buried in the storm, Tensei was snapping his head around, counting and recounting, making sure everyone had their own heads above the snow. Everyone made it, at the cost of Tensei almost snapping his neck off, they used to joke.

... Two years late—no matter what Tensei did—not everyone survived, and the joke didn't hold any humor anymore.

Now, two more years later, the war had ended. Yet Tensei was still snapping his head around— and Shoto was no longer stupid enough to ignore it.

It was a good thing he did, but he looked at all the wrong places.

His hand sneaked to the handle of his mother's sword. Ice grabbed his fingers.

It was like a painting.

They all stood solemn and erect as the sunset shined on their armour while their cloaks fluttered to the sea wind. White candles in glass cups floated by the edge of the beach, flames fueled by Blind Man magic—which they fittingly stole from the Mute Men, although no one but me could tell you that—as white petals danced with the waves of the shore. Their banners were posted all around them, the gold shimmering in the sun.

I was with the crowd.

On top of the walls, the people of the city looked on at their heroes, cheering and scattering horn flowers and tiny colored papers as Nana Shimura attached another honorary badge on a soldier.

The High Paladin ruffled the two males' heads and she presented them to their comrades and people.

And I fight a smile and a frown.

Why did he have to reincarnate here?

The city roared for the parrot-haired blond and the tired-eyed raven head. People would think it was just his quirk that made his eyes the way they were. But I knew—and his crew most probably did too— that at this very moment those blood shot eyes were the product of having to stand beside the blond obnoxious man. And the other warriors clapped and congratulated the two as they resumed their posts on the fighters from the central front.

Curses. Why did he have to be born here? Why the Weak Man's country? Why this side? Why _now_?

Shoto's grip on his sword tightened. As his ears ringed, the people became muted and the clanking of metals intensified. The ice on his fingertips crawled their way to his wrist, then to his forearm, to his elbow, to his—

"Shoto. "

Shoto burned. He tended to do that when most people would have froze. His body jerked up ever so slightly as he stopped from halfing the man beside him, blood rushing to his ears while his sweat warmed his skin. He looked at his comrade beside him—the man who defeated a thousand men and saved a thousand more — Toshinori Yagi, All Might.

I strained my ears.

"We are safe," Toshinori said with a smile mirroring Nana's. It was a warm, wide toothed smile that promised rescue and safety. And it was the smile that comforted shaking hearts and fallen fighters. Everyone believed in that smile, and everyone believed that Toshinori's lips would always be that way, because —how are the Weak Men so optimistic —Toshinori always promised hope and a brighter day.

But Shoto had seen that smile fall, and he had seen Toshinori break... two years ago when even Tensei couldn't do anything. When the fires rose, when their fleshes burned, when the empire turned everything into ash because he—

"Shoto." Toshinori called once more, shaking Shoto out of his darkening thoughts. I'd argue that he shouldn't have and perhaps Shoto could have noticed something amiss in the crowd, but alas I am but a bard. Toshinori and Tensei began walking forward, and it was only then that Shoto realized that Nana had called for them.

The female High Paladin gazed at Shoto, eyes muddled with confusion and worry like a mother would a child. Those were the same eyes she wore four years ago when she tried to convince him to stay, and they were the same eyes that watched him as he rode away.

Those were the same eyes the Queen wore as he stormed out of the palace gates.

The last eyes his mother wore when her heart stopped beating.

And Shoto... Shoto was more afraid of those eyes than he was of an army of quirked empire soldiers. He'd do anything, _anything_ just to avoid those eyes.

 _Oh, he should have been more afraid of armies._

Armies slaughtered and pillaged. A mother's eyes? They were powerless to save. Words though were faithful and always came through. Dragons, krakens, trolls, earthquakes, forest fires. True, the dragons may be long gone, the trolls subdued, and the krakens buried in the sea deep... but all in exchange for something more sinister. And with that, the amount of yellow words being thrown around made something in my stomach churn.

Shoto pushed his body to follow Toshinori and Tensei as they knelt before the High Paladins.

Nana's eyes bore at him still even as Gran Torino and Crimson Riot began naming their known accomplishments. _Known_ as in the rosey-heroic-more-child-friendly accomplishments, because seriously, the people would have paled if they knew what was done in the shadows. I however found the story of Toshinori's felled grin fascinating, side dished by Tensei's dismay.

No, no. If you've lived as long as I have and came from where I was, trust me, you would find sad words just as comforting and welcome. Although, I'd be quite shocked if you and I were country men. Where have you been hiding?

Anyway...

Nana's eyes stuck to Shoto like dried blood on a white cloth. They were still on him as he stood and was decorated by a glistening blue gem. And they were still on him, even as he turned and assumed his post. Her black eyes only left when they met Gran Torino's grey ones in secret conversation.

 _It has to be done_ , ash eyes said, a firm glint. And so black focused once more on the situation at hand.

"And finally, the warrior for whom we are all standing here today, whose intelligence and leadership ended the war... Natsume Yaoyorozu!"

And the crowd roared, and the Order clapped, deafening and resounding...

... but Natsume Yaoyorozu never came, not even when the sun had disappeared, and the deafening cheer had turned into deafening silence.

And when Shoto looked at Tensei, the boy was as pale as snow, muttering a mixture of prayers and curses under his breathe as he asked everyone's question:

"Where is he? "

I eyed the hooded figure beside me who grinned and walked away. I leaned forward.

Where indeed.

I stepped away, eyes on the dragon who saved me lifetimes ago. Now it was my turn to save him.

* * *

I come back, a little while after I've put the dragon to sleep... After I've made him leave the city. It's odd though, don't you think? What's odd? Why don't you try talking, hmn?

... Good. Now leave.

...

This. THIS is odd. My powers don't work on you, why is that? Tell me already, are you a desserter too? Hey, please. Please. Just tell me. From what capital? Were you there too? Do you still have your dragon? Have you found them? How old are you? Hey. I promise I won't tell. Please.

...

Fine.

...

TO HELL WITH THIS!

...

You won't talk, then fine. Be that way. I'll just have you know that it's painful, okay? It's painful to have to lie. It burns me. It hurts. It's... Damn you. Just—... Damn you.

Do you know that when we lie our souls burn in pandemonium? Do you know that when we lie our bodies will be ripped to shreds and fed to krakens? Do you know that before that before that we'll be sent to mountain caves to mate with trolls? Do you KNOW that when we lie we will never get to redeem ourselves through reincarnation? Do you know how awful painful that is? Do you know—damn you—do you know how long I've lived?

I've been alive... for twelve hundred years. I've been alive for twelve hundred years for my people. And who knows for how many more I'll have to live for. I'm not immortal. I can die any day from any misstep, from any slip of the tongue. But I wish I could let that happen. How I wish I could just die. But I can't. And yet, why am I talking to you?

...

You're a good person, aren't you? You won't tell?

Please...

...

"Tensei—"

"Where is he—?! "

Shoto stepped back from the stressing boy, whose blue eyes were frantically searching the crowd even when Tensei had just sat down from all the talks of his supposed engagement and possible future missions and rank in the Order. Shoto was certain if they had not been fast enough, the blue male would have blasted his way out of the after party. Pretty much, the only thing keeping the boy in the Town Square was his father's command to let the Yaoyorozus sort it out. And even though they were hidden under the table, Shoto could tell Tensei's leg was shaking with impatience.

That dragon better be over the mountain by now.

"Why are they taking so—wherE THE BLEEDING FUck is he?" Tensei slammed down the drink, voice lowered from shouting when his father eyed him a few tables down. His hand ran through his hair in frustration, messing it in the process, and finally perfectly portraying how draining his childhood friend's absence was.

Shoto took a seat beside the other, his back pressed on the table a bit uncomfortably.

Blue eyes trailed the dancers by the city fountain, while the musicians played an upbeat tune. Everything was illuminated by the light of the moon and the orange magical flaming lanterns hanging above the celebration. The brothers and sisters of the Order were mixed with the common folk of their city. Lowborn, Highborn, everyone was mingling and enjoying the festivities as pixies and gnomes scurried about refilling drinks and bringing out food. And Shoto thought to himself how pleasant it all was, and how it would never happen in the Capital.

The smallest of smiles graced his face, and he understood more why his mother loved this city.

"Shoto, distract my father, won't you? " No, no, no. You'd best stay there.

"No thank you." There was no way he was going to out fast the Blue Flash. Toshinori maybe. But Shoto was quite sure his ice would break even before he finished encaging the man.

Tensei groaned, turning to Shoto. "I just can't sit here! Natsume needs help! "

"The Yaoyorozus can clean up after their selves."

"He's my friend! "

"He helped end this war. He can help himself. "

"He doesn't do this! " Tensei slammed his injured hand on the table. The faintest of whimpers escaped him, but his frown still stands. "He-, " Tensei continued, "Natsume'd never do this. He—he's never failed to give the people the amazing, valiant hero he's promised to be. That's who he is. That's his entire damn identity. The thing he's gone on and on about since we were kids! He ended this blasted war for pity's sake!"

Tensei's eyes stared at the circles and patterns on the wood of the table, but their sights were far away from the Town Square. His voice was barely loud enough for only Shoto to hear as he continued after a gasp:

"This was his chance to become the symbol of peace. His chance to be the reminder that this nightmare of a war has ended. This was his chance to be the hero who the Blind Seers promised us all, the hero who'd end the 50 years long war!

And now? He didn't show up. He's a smart guy. He knows what message that will send. We're all so happy now. But I'm afraid. I'm so fucking afraid, because what if—fate be good—what if this war is not done? Fate be good. What if we still have to wait ten more years? Fate be good. What if my father really will have to die on the battlefield like my grandfather? Fate, fate... please be good. Because what if, what if my baby brother... my baby brother will have to... have to die... What if my baby brother will have to die on the battlefield too?"

Tensei shook, body cold as ice as his voice cracked at the final sentence. "What if this war's not done with us, Shoto? ...What if Natsume really wasn't the one? " Then his eyes squeezed shut. "Fate... please, please be good. "

Shoto watched Tensei as the boy descended into frantic prayer. "Fate be good... " he said as he took a drink to drown down the thoughts.

Deep down, he knew it was a possibility. Shoto knew that he could have been just staring at an ephemeral peace, like glass so ready to break at a drop. He knew that these merry dancing and singing and music could all possibly be just for tonight. If fate was kind, maybe a couple months. If fate was generous, a couple years. But if it was good, then the war really did end.

But no matter how much they prayed, they knew these yellow words they were singing and saying were all going to bite them. They knew the empire was gathering strength with angry and jealous words. And very soon, dragons and locusts, heavy rains and forest fires will come their way.

Shoto didn't really believe in all these promises the Blind Seers made about Natsume Yaoyorozu, but he did believe in the promises of words.

And it was a good thing he did.

Because fate was a bitch, and it will be having a hissy fit in… five… four… three—

Something exploded.

Well, it came earlier than I thought.

And an eight-year-old cackles, red eyes crazed with a decaying hand.

* * *

 **I'M SO SORRY! TTuTT Please forgive this poor soul. I write soo slooww. Well, I change a lot of things when I revise stuff and end up re-writing the whole chapter over and over again until I'm satisfied. It's a blessing and a curse, I think. Huhuhuhu.**

 **I've also started my first year in Nursing College, and thus far it has been fun (oddly) but travelling back and forth from home to school has been eating all the extra time I have.**

 **I don't really know how long until the next one will be up, but damn it I will write you** _ **Bakugo**_ **.**

 **But anyways, can you tell I was inspired by Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events"? I'll be sticking to this narration style, it's flipping fun! Although, I'm torturing the narrator quite a bit. It's quite easy, but can you figure out who they are? *** _ **wink wink**_ *** And well, twelve hundred years, three hundred years… hmn.**

 **Next Chapter Treat:**

* * *

 _Bakugo clenches his fists, a wide toothed grin and a pounding heart._

 _His quirk was back._

 _Oh, it's you. When was the last time I saw you... fifteen... sixteen years ago?_

* * *

 **Thanks for Reading and Reviewing, my lovelies! Until next time~!**

 **-** _ **winterfrappe**_ **signing out!**


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